


The Shadow of the Evening

by Mickey_McKeown



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Appendicitis, Gen, Hurt Roy Mustang, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-16
Updated: 2018-08-16
Packaged: 2019-06-28 10:04:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15705015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mickey_McKeown/pseuds/Mickey_McKeown
Summary: Mustang and Hughes trapped in a lift. Annoying? Yes. Life threatening? No. Except Mustang might be hiding something...





	The Shadow of the Evening

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on Tumblr for my Bad Things Happen Bingo card and the 'Appendicitis' square. Requested by x-wingsandarchers on Tumblr. Title from Jean de la Fontaine: Friendship is the shadow of the evening, which increases with the setting sun of life.

Coffee. That was what was needed. Colonel Mustang tossed the mission report aside, making the decision to go in search of the caffeinated nectar of the gods. He stood with a wince, a hand going to his side, but dismissed the sharp stab of pain as the result of sitting for too long.

The corridors of Central Headquarters were eerily quiet at night, but Mustang found the silence comforting after the frantic activity of the day. He reached the elevator, deciding to steal the coffee from the department two floors down who, rumour had it, harboured a delicious Italian roast.

“Roy!”

Mustang’s hopes of peace and quiet evaporated into thin air at the boisterous shout. He groaned under his breath.

“What are you doing here so late, Hughes?”

Hughes beamed, holding open the elevator doors for Mustang to step inside. “I had a meeting that ran late. I’m on my way home now. Gracia’s prepared the most wonderful diner for us, have I ever told you what a good cook she is? That’s probably why Elicia’s getting so big so quickly! Have I shown you a photo of them? Here!” Hughes shoved a wad of photographs under Mustang’s nose. “Here’s Gracia with Elicia at the park, here’s Elicia with her doll, here’s Gracia with Elicia and her doll at the park…”

Mustang tuned out the babbling of the besotted father and focused instead on not grimacing in pain. The motion of the elevator had aggravated the ache in his side and it had developed into a constant throbbing ache.

“Roy?”

Mustang opened his eyes, not knowing when he had closed them. Hughes was watching him with concern, his photos momentarily forgotten.

“Yes, Hughes?”

He tried to make the question sound irritable but instead it came out pained.

“You’re pale, Roy,” Hughes observed softly. He stowed his precious photographs back in his pocket and reached out a hand to feel Mustang’s forehead.

Mustang pulled back from his friend’s concern. “I’m fine. Just tired. I have a lot of work.”

Hughes frowned but nodded in acceptance. He brightened almost immediately. “You should come for dinner! Gracia won’t mind, it will be wonderful!”

Mustang shook his head. The thought of food made him feel nauseated, a feeling not relieved by the sudden shudder of the elevator which ground to a halt with a jerk and the tortured sound of metal. He groaned.

“What the hell was that?”

Hughes righted himself from where he had fallen against the side of the elevator. “I don’t know… I think, the elevator may be stuck.”

“What? How the hell does that happen?”

Mustang glared in frustration at the unmoving doors of the elevator but his unspoken order remained unheeded by the uncooperative machinery.

“Maybe if we try to pull the doors apart?” Hughes suggested.

Still glaring at the insubordinate doors, Mustang nodded and the two officers took a grip on the thin gap between the two pieces of metal.

“Okay, on three? One. Two. Three!”

Mustang pulled, but let go immediately with a shout of pain. The motion sent a bolt of agony through his stomach and he sank to the floor, clutching a hand to his side.

Hughes was beside him in an instant. “Roy! What’s wrong?”

Mustang shook his head. “Nothing. Must have just pulled something. I’ll be fine in a moment.”

“You’re not fine,” Hughes insisted.

He reached a hand out once again to feel his friend’s forehead. This time, Mustang was in too much pain to pull away and he allowed Hughes to push his hair back and rest the back of his hand gently against his head.

“Roy, you’re burning up.”

Hughes voice was laden with concern and Mustang wanted to snap at him, to tell him that he was fine, that he could deal with it. All that came out, however, was a pitiful: “Oh.”

Hughes huffed a laugh. “Yeah, Roy, ‘oh’. Do you feel sick? Have you felt ill all day?”

“Not sick. Just…” He bit his lip, forcing the pain to subside before he continued. “Just hurts.”

“What hurts, Roy?”

“Stomach. Must have pulled something.”

Mustang sat back against the side of the elevator, his right leg bent up to relieve the wrenching pain in his stomach. Hughes knelt in front of him, worry written through every line of his expression.

“Anything else? Any nausea?” In lieu of a verbal confirmation, Hughes took Mustang’s silence and averted gaze as an affirmative and sighed. “How do you always end up in these situations, Roy?”

Mustang glanced at his old friend, a glint of humour in his eyes despite the pain that tightened his mouth. “What you really mean is: how do you always end up in these situations with me?”

Hughes laughed and patted Mustang’s knee affectionately. He stood, leaving his ailing friend in position, and pressed a button on the elevator’s control panel. 

“Can anyone hear me? This is Lieutenant Colonel Hughes. I’m trapped in an elevator with Colonel Mustang.”

A brief crackle of static on the radio, and then a voice. “Roger that Colonel. We’re working on it. Are either of you injured? Over.”

“Colonel Mustang is ill. I suspect he has appendicitis.”

There was a moment of silence on the radio. “Okay, got it. We’ll have emergency crews standing by. Out.”

“Appendicitis, Dr Hughes?”

Hughes regarded Mustang with fond exasperation for a moment before replying. “Yes, Roy. Appendicitis. Did you sleep through the entirety of advanced aid training?”

“When would we ever need to diagnose appendicitis, Hughes? In what ridiculous battle scenario would that happen?”

“I don’t know, Roy. Perhaps in the scenario where two senior officers are trapped in an elevator with no medical help?”

Mustang laughed, then groaned at the pain. “Sarcasm doesn’t become you, Maes.”

Hughes chuckled and sat beside the Flame Alchemist. “Tell me if you start to feel any worse, okay? I can try to hurry along the engineers.”

“I’m okay, Hughes. I think it’s getting a little better.”

Hughes frowned at the weak voice of his friend and glanced at him with an appraising eye. Mustang was pale but for two watercolour splashes of red across his cheeks, beads of sweat appeared and dripped down his forehead, and his eyes were over-bright with fever.

“You look worse,” Hughes commented softly.

Mustang smirked weakly. “Flattery will get you everywhere.”

“I’m serious, Roy. Where does it hurt most, still your right side?”

“No. Sort of everywhere.” Mustang rolled his head to the side to regard Hughes. “Is that bad?”

Hughes cursed under his breath, though loud enough for Mustang to hear. The Flame Alchemist raised his eyebrows in surprise. He knew he should be more concerned; if Hughes was using expletives then he really must be in trouble, but he couldn’t find the energy to worry.

“This is Lieutenant Colonel Hughes. Over.”

Hughes was back at the radio. When had he stood up? Mustang couldn’t think clearly, there seemed to be a fog invading his head, his limbs wouldn’t cooperate.

“Hughes?” Even his voice was weak.

“Yes, we need immediate medical assistance…” 

Mustang tried again. “Maes?”

Hughes glanced down at the Colonel and, radio forgotten, knelt beside him once more. “Roy?”

“Maes… I don’t feel good.”

The last thing he saw was Hughes’ eyes widen in alarm and his hand dart out to steady him as he listed to the side, before the world went black and he knew no more.

xxx

The world returned to the tune of beeping and what sounded like a chainsaw, but turned out to be Lieutenant Colonel Hughes snoring in a chair three feet away. Mustang frowned, trying to recall what events had landed him in the hospital this time. Drawing a blank he decided to awaken Hughes, but found his throat dry and sore and able to emit only a low croak. His frog impression seemed to work, however, as Hughes’ eyes flew open and he sat up immediately.

His face relaxed into a bright, relieved grin. “Roy! You’re awake!” He held out a cup of water for Mustang to drink, then sat back down, regarding his friend with serious eyes. “You gave us a scare for a while.”

“What happened?” From the look of Hughes’ rumpled clothing and thick stubble, he had been here for at least two days. “You look awful.”

Hughes laughed. “Pot meet kettle.” He sobered. “Your appendix burst while we were trapped in the elevator. You had peritonitis. They weren’t sure whether…” He tailed off, glancing away. When he looked back there was an expression of frustration on his usually genial face. “What the hell were you thinking, Roy? The doctors said you had to be having abdominal pain for at least three or four days before. You didn’t think it might be a good idea to tell someone?”

“Hughes, I…”

“No, Roy. You nearly died in front of me. I know how focused you are on your goals. But it can’t come at the expense of your health. It almost came at the expense of your life! Promise me you’ll take better care of yourself.”

Mustang looked away, chastened. The raw concern rolled off Hughes in waves; the incident had distressed his friend more than he had imagined. “I’m sorry.” He looked back at Hughes, trying to conjure a reassuring smile. “I promise I’ll try to take better care. Though you might have to remind me, sometimes.”

Hughes laughed, the worry and frustration dispelled by his customary wide smile. “Of course. I’ll always be here to tell you when you’re being an idiot.”

Mustang smiled. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Maes.”


End file.
